


Barbie's Bitch

by shirotabek



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Established Shance, Guilt, Imprisoned Lance, Langst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Slight Shangst, Thanks for being a tool Lotor, it's up to interpretation, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11691060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirotabek/pseuds/shirotabek
Summary: After Lance is held captive by Lotor for far too long, sleep isn't quite the same. Shiro cuddling up against him doesn't quell all of Lance's worries like it used to, and though this is only his first night, Lance feels certain enough that the silence triggering such vivid flashbacks and fear is a good sign that he's too guilt-ridden and broken to fall right back into Shiro's arms so easily.





	Barbie's Bitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chashuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chashuu/gifts).



> not as carefully proofread as usual, but i'm very tired
> 
> some lotor dynamics and language that panders to chii for their very bad day/week

Forever since he’d been in a real bed. 

Lance remembered them being more comfortable. 

Understandable, since he’d painted some kind of heavily exaggerated picture of a bed’s comfort in those weak attempts to will himself away from nights on cold prison ground. Physicality grounded his focus onto _something_ when shivers seemed to shudder him right out of reality. The bed became the North Star of just enough rest to survive, of keeping somewhat fresh what it felt like to be safe, of some semblance of sanity.

The forgiving plush of a mattress, the protective embrace of a blanket, and the steady reassurance of fingers in his hair. 

He had all of that now, with a warm body wrapped around him to boot, but none of it was as satisfying as he had hoped. The relaxing effect of muscle heaving peacefully against his back dissolved quickly for Lance when the breaths slowed to something that made one thing very clear: Shiro was asleep.

Lance was alone with his thoughts.

So rare was it for Shiro to fall asleep before him that even such a small irregularity was setting Lance off. He was alone, despite 200 pounds of affection curled against the unseasonable shivering that Lance couldn’t help. The temperature in the castle was warm enough that he should have been fine with Shiro’s heat also bleeding into his skin.

Some part of Lance hadn’t left Lotor’s ship, though. 

Some weighty fraction of his being was still lying on that floor, chained in place, anticipating- no, dreading- when Lotor would deign to enter.

Lance struggled to turn around in Shiro’s surprisingly strong sleep grasp, hoping the fuzzy image of his boyfriend’s face would provide distraction from what was welling up against his ribcage. Paranoia was probably the best way to describe it now that he was back into safety, but the sensation wasn’t much different than what knocked him down completely every time he was staring Lotor in the face. 

Unfairly pretty features for how wicked the smirk that marred them.

Something about how pretty Lotor was actually haunted Lance worse. All those fairy tales where the beautiful princesses were good and honest while the villains looked anywhere from austere to hideous probably had their hand in his ultimately detrimental perception. Delicate and pleasing features were supposed to be on his side, but Lotor indisputably was not. Beauty had betrayed him, until he betrayed himself.

More haunting came from guilt. 

Long, mesmerising hair and pleasing angles of composition were dangerous of their own accord. Knowledge of their existence was extra danger enough. An understanding of exactly how to manipulate with those good looks, though? Downright deadly. 

Not quite fatal (circumstantially), but strong enough that Lance was desperately searching Shiro’s undisturbed repose for solace and coming up with nothing. 

He couldn’t share the guilt. He couldn’t let Shiro in on anything that would be too much. But he couldn’t keep it to himself, either. 

“What a pair we’d make.” Lotor’s tone had always been an octave too low, a shade too suave, affecting too much for Lance to be completely sure that all his shivers stemmed from the low temperatures. 

The shudder that ran up his spine again at the sheer memory was good indication that Lotor’s voice really had been most of the cause.

“I don’t want to be a pair with you,” had taken a suspiciously long time to work out of Lance’s system, but the delay had been a trade-off to guarantee no waver in his voice.

“So loyal to your black paladin. And yet, I don’t think much work on my behalf will be necessary to get your body to betray you. To betray your lover.”

Lover was a stupid word. Lance distinctly recalled thinking that sentence and that sentence only before feeling a surge of bravery and maybe a little bit of stupidity as well surge in his lungs. 

“I’m not contaminating my yogurt slinger with purple jerk-off, Barbie. Don’t need the prize hog to look like a grape Otter pop.” Mind blank with adrenaline for mouthing off while scared, alone, and chained to the floor by an enemy, Lance had taken the opportunity of absent impulse control to also spit at Lotor’s feet. For good measure, obviously. Maybe not his most carefully calculated moment, but he had been terrified, mostly unsure of how he had gotten captured away from his team, and completely unaware of how Lotor seemed to know that he and Shiro were an item.

The courage had drained quickly with the color in his complexion when Lotor squatted down and moved toward him.

Lance had flinched roughly, but no blow followed his taunts; instead, he’d felt lanky fingers finding purchase on his chin just firm enough to tilt his face up a little. The only thing he could remember thinking then was just how _big_  Lotor was. Bigger than Shiro.

“What a mouth on this one.” Lance had tensed a little when a lilac thumb tugged slightly on his bottom lip. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Tight. Tight. Lance’s chest was tight.

Not in the memory, although it was hard to distinguish between what had already happened and where he was now. Shiro’s bulkiness was starting to feel like Lotor boxing him in like that and Lance’s chest was too goddamn tight for him to breathe. 

Before he could consider the consequences of startling a sleeping someone who also had his fair share of paranoia and panic, Lance was shoving hard on Shiro’s shoulders in a hysteric and distressed attempt to get _away_ , to get this grip _off_  of him before he no longer felt like he had any control over escaping the embrace, the bed, the room. 

Lance always needed an escape plan now. 

That need was stalled, however, when Shiro’s eyes flew open in concern and fear. Lance could have felt guilty for bringing that look about if he hadn’t been busy seizing and freezing in terror, abruptly horrified that he might have scared Shiro enough to get him to activate his arm on instinct. 

Just like no blow had come from Lotor, neither did Shiro sear into his flesh with the pink glow that now gave Lance more anxiety than he cared to admit. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out in the once again barren desert of his mind. That seemed to be all that could happen upstairs for him lately. He slid back and forth and without warning between a mind that ran rampant with uneasiness and a completely vacant headspace, presumably wiped clean to protect him from the sort of overwork his brain was now regularly suffering through. “Shiro, I’m sorry.”

Shiro clearly had an unsurprising look of panic pass over his face for a few moments, but he slipped quickly into more worry than Lance’s persistent guilt could bear. 

“Shiro, it’s okay. It’s me. I’m sorry. Everything’s okay. Nightmare. Relax.”

Though Lance’s wounds were fresher, Shiro’s were deeper. The default position for Lance was calming Shiro down, and it had been that way for as long as Shiro had allowed. Even with his own tension consuming him, Lance couldn’t fight that instinct. 

Both relaxing some in each other’s arms, nowhere near as tight as Shiro had been grappling onto him when Lance pushed away, they laid in the dark with the silence settling unceremoniously on top of them. Shiro wanted an explanation; Lance didn’t have one yet. They knew both of these facts and continued to let the time pass with no movement, no progress, no resolution. 

_ ”I have a lot more to offer you than the black paladin does.” _

No, Lance couldn’t handle such vivid lines dancing across his focus while Shiro was awake and expectantly hoping for that explanation. Any second now. He should spit it out. Tick t-

_ ”I don’t care if your junk is bigger. It’s not worth it if it’s barbed like a cat’s.” _

_ “More than sexual satisfaction. Appreciation. Reassurance. Power.” _

_ “I get enough from Shiro.” _

“Do you want to talk about the nightmare?” 

Shiro’s painstakingly careful tone still startled Lance at first. 

“Need a minute.”

_ ”He’s above you, isn’t he? A leader. Smarter than you. In a position of power. Sweet, but patronizingly so. Not an equal.” _

_ “I know Shiro is my equal.” _

_ Lance would have spit again if he hadn’t already been a little dehydrated by that far into his imprisonment. Lotor had tried to smoke him out and bargain with him at the same time. It mostly made Lance’s head swim with ideas and bad temptations.  _

_ “You think that way. Does he?” _

“What am I to you?” Lance asked quietly, breaking the silence with an intense look beamed up at Shiro. 

“You’re- you’re Lance.”

“More. What am I really?”

_ ”You could be my equal. I could unchain you with the promise that you’d rule by my side. Use that clever brain of yours to help me take down the team that’s done nothing but underestimate you. You’d make quite the princess with that skin.” _

_ Pause. Too long of a pause. Too much consideration for how long that pause lingered with Lotor’s offer. An offer Lance would hear too many times before he was finally rescued.  _

_ “I’d rather be Shiro’s bitch than your anything, Barbie.” _

Shiro was quiet, half still tired and half deep in thought as he moved slowly to brush a few hairs into place and off Lance’s forehead. Scars tarnished some corners of the skin Lance had been so proud of being without blemish. Shiro hadn’t hesitated to kiss those spots anymore than he’d hesitated to kiss anywhere else since they’d gotten Lance back. 

“The only person who could treat me human enough when I wasn’t acting human for me to get back into something normal.”

Something different welled in Lance’s chest, this time blooming sticky and warm and content from his heart instead of with an overwhelming urge to cry. He actually did feel one of those right now, but it was certainly different than the tears that came with panic. “Yeah?” he whispered, almost scared for Shiro to even hear when hearing could mean saying no and pulling out the rug from beneath him. Lance’s trust wasn’t where it used to be after Lotor rummaging around in his head like a rude yard sale customer. 

“Who knows if I would have acted my age ever again without you insisting that I laugh at your jokes?” Shiro murmured, lips brushing against where his human thumb had brushed over on Lance’s forehead. “I was acting too old but it took a lot more maturity than I had for you to demand I get back to something healthy again.”

Throat tight for the first positive reason in what truly felt like forever, Lance buried his face in Shiro’s neck. “You mean you need me? As an equal partner? To make sure you to laugh at the word taint?”

“More than anything.”


End file.
